Vices and Virtues
by candy4yourEYEZ
Summary: Everyone has their vices, but only a very small amount of people have virtues as well. With Arthur as his new patient, Francis is going to need all the virtuousness he can find- therapists only get paid so much, you know. FrUk


Francis Bonnefoy leaned back in his chair, settling into the soft cushions. He absentmindedly ran a hand through his thick blonde locks while simultaneously flipping through the case file of one Arthur Kirkland, the newest resident of St. Brutus' Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys. Francis, of course, was one of the resident psychiatrists.

He'd recently graduated from one of the most prestigious schools in the country, and had naught but a diploma and a coffee mug to show for it- oh, and bragging rights. Can't forget those, especially because they were the clincher for that hot brunette last night…

As Francis took a mental vacation to the previous night to visit his latest conquest, he didn't notice the door to his office opening and the people who stepped through it. He did notice, however, when one of the intruders leaned over his desk and pinched his nose closed. Hard.

"_Sacre bleu_!" He swore under his breath, swatting the offending hand away from his nose and coughing at the stench of rum clinging to aforementioned offending hand.

Francis looked up, ready to cuss whoever it was to high heaven and back, but snapped his mouth shut as soon as he saw the woman standing behind the delinquent. She was tall, beautiful, and the only woman he'd known who he had never even thought of hitting on. In other words, she -Mrs. Amelia Bonnefoy- was his boss. As well as his aunt.

"Mr. Bonnefoy, you have done well with other young men here, so I will be changing your schedule around. Instead of meeting with different residents every day, from now on, you will only have one patient. Arthur Kirkland. Arthur, Mr. Bonnefoy. Mr. Bonnefoy, Arthur. I'm sure you two will get along splendidly." Mrs. Bonnefoy turned abruptly to leave but when she reached the door she stopped, spun around, and glared at the both of them. "Mr. Kirkland, it would behoove you to remember that this is the last option your family has paid for- your only course after here is the streets. Therefore, I expect you to behave accordingly. And Mr. Bonnefoy… if I hear one negative peep about the patient from you, consider yourself out of a job." With that last threat hanging in the air, she stepped through the door and closed it with the air of washing her hands of something- Francis didn't need his degree to figure out what (or who) that something was.

And that something was now comfortably residing in the chair on the other side of Francis' desk, looking very satisfied with how things had gone so far.

"She's a bit of a controlling arsemonger, isn't she?" Arthur smirked and reached over, picking up and dropping pens one by one in Francis' coffee mug. After dropping each pen at least five times, he resorted to restacking the other files on the desk, taking a moment to note the names so he could bug the owners of each file about this pansy new counselor. Arthur picked up the entire stack and dropped it loudly, but Francis refused to look up from his case file. The smirk disappeared and Arthur began to kick the legs of the desk. They must have taught patience as a subject in wherever prissypants school this frog went to. Arthur hoped that part of the course was holding their hands in buckets of ice water- 'Mr.' Bonnefoy looked like he chapped easily.

"What, am I going to have to float an air biscuit to get you to say anything?" Arthur sneered; if physical annoyances didn't bug the counselor –no, from now on he was The Frog (he was obviously French, judging from the name, stubble, and the hipster-ish air that made Arthur want to park a custard)- then he'd just keep needling The Frog verbally. If barely veiled threats of violence and gratuitous profanity didn't make The Frog sick of him, well, Arthur still had one more card up his sleeve. "I wonder, did the minger whip you as a child? You seem scared as fuck of her. Or maybe you're one of those masochists who acts all man-like, but you're a total fanny under the sheets. But I'm guessing that whichever whore you were with last night didn't want to make it to the bed, considering the carpet burn on your elbows and the gi-fucking-normous hickey on your neck."

Francis bit the inside of his lip as Arthur continued, and wished that he hadn't worn short sleeves. He probably should have checked for any souvenirs before dressing, but he'd been late and Aunt Amelia was extremely strict about timing. Of course, she was also very strict about love and work not mixing- which was a total farce, seeing as the head of Family Asssurance was her on and off lover.

And… Tuning back into Arthur's monologue, it seemed that the students knew that as well as the staff, considering his "Anyone who's buggering that Family Assurance arsewipe isn't fit to run this shithole," portion of the rant. Francis decided that while he could keep up the 'patient counselor' façade a while longer, it was best not to push it. He didn't think Aunt Amelia would take kindly to him smashing Arthur's face into the desk. Even if it was for the sake of the Frenchman's fraying sanity.

"So, are all the meetings from now on simply going to be you babbling on about whatever strikes your fancy?" Francis inquired, propping his non rug burned elbow on the desk and resting his chin on his fist. "Because I can think of much more entertaining things to talk about than whatever random thoughts flitter through your brain." He'd decided that a tough love approach would work best with Arthur, and was surprised when instead of the textbook 'too bad, I'll say whatever I want' response, Arthur just smirked and said one definitely non-textbook sentence.

"About which to talk." When he received a questioning look from The Frog, Arthur snickered and repeated himself. "About which to talk. Much more entertaining things about which to talk. Way to fuck up your prepositional phrases, Frog. I'd expect you to know the English language a little better- but you're French, so all expectations are lowered to the level of a garden snail. Have you ever eaten snails? Probably. They're vile, disgusting, and gag me with a spoon ugly. Sort of like the French themselves, don't you agree?" Arthur's smirk changed to an impressive imitation of an innocent smile, but his eyes were glittering with malice.

"Well, the French are many things, and I'm glad that one of those things isn't being gifted with monstrosities for eyebrows. Are those genetic, or did you decide to skin one of those furry caterpillar bugs and attach it to your face?" Francis beamed, and tensed his muscles, waiting for the incoming punch (a few months with the boys here, and Francis had learned to duck and incapacitate- things that hadn't been taught in his 'Counseling 101' class).

Which never came. Instead, Arthur settled back in his chair and appraised him thoughtfully.

"Touché," he admitted, but as soon as the curious expression on his face had appeared, it was wiped off and replaced by what Francis was starting to think of as his standard smirk. "But I believe the score is still two to one, in my favour. You'll have to step up your game, Frog."

"While I do enjoy verbal sparring, you're here for a reason." Francis sat back in his chair and snapped the case file closed, reminding himself of the crucial rule to his profession: no attachments. Stay emotionless, and you have the ability to reason and see solutions. Stay emotionless, and you cannot be hurt. While he was enclosed in these four walls, he had to be clinical- not cynical. No matter how much he instinctively wanted to argue with a certain infuriating British boy.

"Oh, really. And what might that reason be?" Arthur's smirk was gone, covered by a bored expression that looked like it had been years in the making. Which, Francis thought (after seeing this delinquent's case file) it probably had.

"Let's start by reviewing your history," Francis reminded himself of Aunt Amelia's threat and started reciting the contents of the summary, which he had nearly memorized. "Arthur Kirkland, son of Elizabeth George and George Kirkland. Seventeen years old, been in and out of various treatment facilities since age 10. Diagnosed with schizophrenia, pyromania, and pathological lying. Schizophrenia diagnosis revoked after extensive EST treatments. Has been arrested numerous times, most recently for arson regarding the apartment of one Alfred F. Jones. Suspended or expelled from most private schools in the United States and the United Kingdom for violence, disrespect to teachers and/or students, and an attitude unsuited to a learning environment."

"Well, that's a new one. 'Attitude unsuited to a learning environment.' They could've saved some ink by just writing 'Doesn't Care.'" Arthur twisted his neck back and forth, the rapid succession of pops making Francis wince. "Well? Aren't you going to be like every other shrink and ask me why I don't care?" Arthur leaned across the desk, testing every fiber of Francis' patience as he spoke, breath tickling the Frenchman's nose. "Family Issues? Got 'em. Mental disorders as well. Abusive relationships, bad friends with worse habits, and a general case of not giving a flying fuck. Pretty much everything that could be wrong with a pretty rich boy is, and you can't fix it." Arthur abruptly slid back into his chair; crossing his legs and tilting his head back and slightly to the side so he could look at the other blonde down his nose. "No one can."

"I doubt that," Francis muttered. "Now, first up. Why don't you tell me about your recent charges of arson?"

"Well, the jail wasn't too bad. They got me donuts after I shelled out a couple Jacksons, and it smelled like lemons- which is a lot better than the unwashed rapist scent that a lot of other prisons have. I had some fun before the Units bailed me out; I taught this other kid- he was named after that city, Hong Kong. And I thought being named after a cartoon character and a famous king was bad- how to pick pretty much any lock with pretty much any object. He was in there for arson too, actually. Burnt down his brother's house after his brother sent his sister to the intensive care unit. Hong got bailed out by his boyfriend though. Annoying little bugger- the boyfriend, not Hong." Frog started tapping his pen on the table at this point, a subtle reminder to hurry the hell up. "Ha, you want to get to the good stuff." Arthur rolled his eyes. "They always do."

"That's because _they_ have a job to do, Arthur." Francis quirked an eyebrow at the Brit's long-suffering expression.

"Fine. But if you want to know about what happened, I get to tell the story my way. Oh, and no interruptions. If you interrupt, then I stop talking and I don't start again. Ever." Arthur eyed The Frog thoughtfully. "Although, I guess I shouldn't have to warn you. I'm pretty sure you're the pansy ass that I heard someone talking about who nearly shat himself when he asked about some guy's mom and the wanker nearly throttled him. No comment?"

"Just one that mainly involves phrases like 'get on with it,' and 'I don't have all day here.' Which are both technically useless, since we both know you're my job now. But I would like to get to a marvelous club tonight, and if you keep rambling, I'll end up alone at my house doing the hooker's job for her." Francis made a show of settling back in his chair and taking a sip from his coffee mug, motioning with his free hand for Arthur to start talking.

"Fine. So, here's how the story starts…"

* * *

><p>Authoress' Random Ramble<p>

This is my new FrUk AU~! France knows I really shouldn't be starting ANOTHER MULTI CHAPTER STORY, but I just can't help myself -_-

So, this baby'll have 14 chapters (one for each vice, one for each virtue), and there'll be a bunch of awesomess, swearing, Brit slang, and cameos. My pairings for the story so far are my usual favs, Spamano, PruCan, probably KoHo and AusHun and RoChu. If you have any suggestions, or an OC you want me to pop in as a patient, drop me a review!

Also, therapist is the best job for France. Ever. Therapist. The. Rapist. Onhonhon...

Less than three, less than three


End file.
